


The Second Coming

by blacktofade



Series: Vivian Ward: Eat Your Heart Out [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:59:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Tony is an escort hired by Bucky for Steve's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Coming

**Author's Note:**

> GOD BLESS AMERICA FOR CAP'S BEAUTIFUL TUSH. *eagle cry* The least he deserves on his birthday is some awesome sex. Dedicated to [](http://speth.livejournal.com/profile)[**speth**](http://speth.livejournal.com/) for getting me into this pairing in zero seconds flat. Apparently, I totally have a thing for writing prostitution AUs, by the way. NO SHAME.

It’s not Steve’s usual routine when he flops back onto his couch, rests his bare feet on the coffee table, and drags the box of Ray’s pizza towards him. It is, however, a nice, well-needed break after a long week of work, and as he lifts the first slice of Supreme to his mouth, bits of Italian sausage rolling into his lap, he’s ready to put everything behind him and spend the weekend relaxing.

What he doesn’t count on is the knock on his door.

He eyes the pizza, then the door, before sighing heavily and dropping the slice back into the box, his stomach protesting loudly. So close, yet so far. Slowly, he lets his feet fall to the floor and pushes himself up, not even bothering to mute the TV before he takes the three steps needed to reach the door. Peering through the peephole, he finds a man standing there, probably a fair few years younger than himself, staring at the phone in his hand and chewing his lip in thought. He has no idea who it is, so he keeps his foot jammed behind the door as he unlocks it and pulls it open.

“Can I help you?” he asks, trying his hardest not to wipe his greasy fingers down his pants. The man startles slightly, but quickly composes himself.

“Whoa. Hey there, big boy,” he says, eyes blatantly raking up and down Steve’s body before briefly darting back to the glowing screen. “Would you by any chance happen to be Steve Rogers?”

Steve frowns and braces the door in a firmer grip.

“Who’s asking?”

The man tucks his phone into his pocket and glances briefly behind him with a roguish grin.

“Who are you expecting? FBI? Italian mob? Your Great-Aunt Ethel?”

Steve moves to shut the door, because the last thing he needs is some thug playing a prank on him, but the man holds his hands up in surrender and calls him back.

“No, no! I’m sorry. Small talk isn’t my thing. Actually, _conversations_ aren’t my thing; I’m more of a _hands-on_ guy. Look, do you mind if I come in? I know, it’s weird, why would you let some stranger in your house? But does it help if I tell you I know your friend Bucky?”

Steve narrows his eyes and doesn’t give in.

“How do you know him?”

“I need a place to stay and he said you could put me up for a night.”

“He _what_? Wait here.”

He shuts the door in the man’s face and walks back into his kitchen, where his phone sits charging. He pulls the cable free, the battery already half-full, and makes his way back over to the door. He dials Bucky’s number and pulls the door open, finding the stranger biting at the skin around his thumb. He stops when he notices Steve standing there as though ashamed to be caught, but Steve just listens to the ringing, waiting for Bucky to pick up.

“Steve? What’s up?”

He holds his phone against his shoulder, keeping Bucky from hearing as he speaks to the man.

“What’s your name?” he asks and the man tilts his head to one side.

“Tony.”

He puts his cell back up to his ear and takes a calming breath.

“Do you know Tony?”

“Who?”

Steve raises an eyebrow at _Tony_ , but the man doesn’t look at all guilty.

“He said you’d told him I’d let him stay for a night.”

“Oh!” Bucky says as though realisation finally dawns. “Your present!”

Steve frowns and shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably.

“My _present_?”

Tony meets his gaze and smiles, teeth unnervingly white as though he’s a model in toothpaste commercials.

“Yeah. Is he around 5’11”, dark hair, with an ass you could bounce dimes off of?”

Steve glances across at Tony and blushes. He doesn’t know about the ass business, but Tony notices his reaction and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh. Um, yeah, sort of. What’s he doing on my doorstep?”

“Happy Birthday!”

“ _No_ ,” he says firmly, but Bucky just laughs. “You _can’t_ be serious. I will _not_ have a – a – in my house.”

Tony looks mildly insulted, but Steve angles away from him and pointedly ignores him.

“C’mon, Steve, lighten up. It’s your birthday. Look, you don’t even need to do anything with him. Ask him to play scrabble with you, or get him to give you a massage. He might even be willing to dust your livingroom for you if you ask nicely. He’s yours for the night, so put him to good use.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” he stresses into the silence. “Bucky!”

There’s no answer and he knows Bucky has ended the call, leaving him frustrated and annoyed, and this was not how his evening was meant to go.

“You said you needed somewhere to stay,” he rounds on Tony, anger barely contained, and Tony has the audacity to glare back.

“I do, and it just so happens that I’ve been paid to stay in _your_ house. Win-win situation, really.”

“Except for me.”

Tony shrugs.

“You get to fuck me.”

Steve hates that he blushes, but he can’t help it.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, eyeing his neighbour’s door as though they’ve got a cup pressed against the wood, listening in on their conversation.

“I can’t _believe_ your friend hired a hooker!” Tony exclaims and Steve grabs him by the arm and tugs him into his apartment before slamming the door behind them.

“What did I just say?” Steve says folding his arms and drawing himself up to his full height, hoping it’ll knock Tony down a few pegs. Tony just shrugs and peers curiously around the room.

“Something about how you don’t let prostitutes into your home? There’s a massive flaw in your rules right now,” he says, gesturing down at himself and Steve rubs at his forehead because there’s definitely a headache coming on.

“I didn’t mean it like that – ” he begins and all he wants to do is crawl back over to his pizza and Jeopardy re-runs, and pretend he never opened his door.

“Oh, my mistake. How _did_ you mean it?”

He’s seen _Pretty Woman_ and Tony is a pair of thigh-high leather boots away from becoming Vivian Ward.

“Look, this has been a huge mistake. Bucky set this up as a joke for my birthday, so just tell me how much he owes you and we can both forget this ever happened.”

“It’s your birthday? Well, Happy Birthday! How old are you now; twenty-five?”

It’s entirely the wrong part of his admission to latch onto, but somehow, in the five minutes they’ve known each other, Steve doesn’t expect anything less from Tony. Steve raises an eyebrow and finally unfolds his arms.

“Flattery doesn’t always work.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes it helps. Oh, hey! Pizza!”

Steve doesn’t even have the brainpower to reach across and stop him, and Tony grabs the piece Steve had been holding before everything even started.

“Jeeze, I’m starved,” Tony says, bringing the slice up to his mouth and Steve’s eyes widen in horror. “Not literally!” Tony says around his mouthful, giving Steve a judgemental look.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t – ”

“Do I look like I can’t afford food?” Tony says finally swallowing, and, no, Steve’s almost entirely sure he can afford more than food if his clothes are anything to go by.

Tony’s wearing a loose, well-worn t-shirt under a fitted jacket, giving him a smart-casual appearance, but there’s no doubt that the pants have been tailored to fit him perfectly, because not even models have asses that look that good in slacks. Bucky wasn’t lying about the dime thing, but it’s definitely not something that bears repeating. Or mentioning out loud.

Knowing that they’re getting nowhere fast, Steve sighs and makes his way to the couch, flopping back and tossing the pizza box onto the coffee table to give Tony a place to sit. It’s only polite, after all. He takes a slice for himself and tries his best to ignore the way Tony slinks down into the cushions, his legs splayed open as though that’s just the way they fall now after so long as a – Steve cuts that thought off at the quick and focuses on the TV.

“Who is John McNamara,” Tony says suddenly and Steve blinks and glances over just as Alex Trebek echoes the answer and a contestant called Jan loses $400. Tony stares back at him, a dab of tomato paste in the corner of his mouth, and shoots him a smirk. Steve pretends he doesn’t see it, any of it, and starts picking the mushroom off and tossing the pieces into the unused section of the pizza box.

“Why didn’t you just get it without?” Tony asks, leaning forward and taking the mushroom for himself, layering the segments on top of his already mountainous slice. “Though you obviously have questionable taste since this is the best part.”

“It’s just easier,” Steve mumbles.

“That way you won’t be let down if they mess up your order, right?”

“I suppose.”

Tony stares and shakes his head.

“Jesus, you’re one hell of a pessimistic guy. I haven’t even known you for ten minutes and you’re giving me depression.”

“You’re in my house, eating my food,” is all Steve says and Tony just pulls a face.

“Wet blanket.”

“Can you do at least one productive thing while you’re here ruining my life? Can you do the dishes or something?”

“I’m an _escort_ , not a _slave_ , Rogers.”

Steve blinks at the use of his last name and wonders what Tony’s is, though “Tony” might not even be his real _first_ name. He keeps quiet and nibbles on the edge of his crust, suddenly not feeling as hungry as before.

Luckily, it seems as though Tony wasn’t lying because he eats almost three quarters of the pizza by himself and Steve has no idea where he puts it all.

“Don’t judge,” Tony says, one hand resting on the curve of his bloated stomach. “You were going to eat the entire thing by yourself before I arrived.”

Steve doesn’t bother arguing. However, it’s when Steve puts his elbow on the armrest and tilts his head back to get a little comfier that he realises he doesn’t exactly smell like daisies. He shoots a sideways glance at Tony, who continues watching the television as though his life depends on it and Steve knows he can’t leave him alone in his apartment while he showers. He’s a complete stranger; he could rob him blind and leave without another word.

“Do I have pizza on my face?” Tony suddenly says, not even blinking and Steve tries not to show how much it startles him.

“What? No. Why would you think that?”

Tony finally turns towards him and makes a face.

“You were burning my skin off with that stare of yours, Zarkorr.” Steve doesn’t get the reference and his blank look must give him away because Tony throws his hands up in the air, making Steve sit back a little further. “Are you kidding? Godzilla with lasers for eyes? Ring any bells, Quasimodo?”

“No, but I _have_ seen the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Thank God for small miracles. So, what’s got you in a knot?”

“It’s nothing; it can wait,” Steve says, embarrassed that he’s so easy to read.

“Spill, or I’ll give you a lap dance and it’ll totally ruin your night.”

With an ass like Tony’s, he doubts it very much, but he doesn’t want to push Tony’s patience because he seems like the sort of man to hold true to his word. Especially when it comes to other people’s misery. Steve glances away and rubs at his nose – a telling nervous tic that he’s yet to grow out of.

“I need to shower,” he mumbles and Tony blinks.

“And you don’t want me to steal all of your shit, right?”

Steve blushes and glares at him, even though it’s true. It’s the fact that Tony’s prodding his integrity a little too hard.

“I’m not used to having guests,” is what Steve says instead and watches at Tony bites the inside of his cheek.

“Look,” Tony says, reaching into his pocket and pulling his cell phone and wallet out. “Take them in with you, because I sure as hell can’t get anywhere without it all.”

Steve begins to shake his head, but Tony seems to predict it because he smirks and leans forward.

“Would you rather tie me up and leave me to wait for your return, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve blushes, grabs the two items before his brain has time to catch up, jumps off the couch, and makes his way to the bathroom. All in approximately three seconds. It’s a new record, even for Steve. He locks the door and puts the phone and wallet by the sink, staring at them. The entirety of Tony’s life rests before him and his fingers are itching like crazy. He’ll just check for an ID, he bargains with his conscience, just to make sure Tony is really who he says he is.

He flips the wallet open as though half-expecting it to zap him for being such a poor host, but it just flops open, revealing a row of cards, including an unexpired Visa, insurance information, and a rewards card for Banana Republic. Steve blinks and prises the leather open further, finding two twenties and a stack of one dollar bills, which he tries his hardest not to think of as tips. Behind a small plastic screen near the front, sits a Californian licence, revealing that Tony’s not even from the East Coast, and that he is actually called Tony. Tony Stark, in fact.

He drops it suddenly when there’s a knock on the door.

“Please don’t steal my dollar bills,” comes Tony’s voice as though he knows exactly what Steve is doing. “I need them to pay for parking.”

Steve pushes everything aside, feeling incredibly guilty, and finally leans over and turns the shower on, letting it warm up while he empties his bladder and strips off his clothes.

The jet of hot water is precisely what he’s needed and if he happens to let out a low groan of approval, it’s between him and the blue-tiled wall. Even with Tony’s personal effects sitting just beyond the shower curtain, he feels the need to hurry, as though he’s worried Tony will go snooping, which makes him one hell of a hypocrite. He lathers up a sponge with body wash and cleans away the day’s grime, sighing in contentment when he finally begins to smell a hell of a lot better. After rinsing, he shampoos and conditions his hair, scratching his blunt nails over his scalp and forcing out another noise of happiness.

“Are you touching yourself in there?” comes Tony’s muffled voice and Steve accidentally jams his elbow against a bar of soap and sends it clanging to the floor and he knows there’s a joke in there somewhere as he bends to pick it up, but he can hear Tony laughing and it’s all he can do to keep from barging through the door and throttling him.

“Go away!” he shouts, wondering if Tony’s just been standing there the entire time.

“If you let me in, I can give you a hand.”

The door handle actually rattles and Steve is extremely thankful that he locked it.

“Go wash the dishes!” he retorts, just as he gets conditioner in his eye and lets out a frustrated sound that he half-directs towards Tony. He rinses his hair and eye out and finally washes his face before turning the water off and stepping free. He wipes himself down with a towel and briefly rubs it over his head to dry his hair, before wrapping it around his waist and leaving the room in a haze of steam. Glancing over, he finds Tony sitting in front of the television as though he’s never moved an inch, though he definitely knows better. Tony meets his gaze and winks before Steve slams his bedroom door behind him and lets the towel slide down his hips.

He dresses quickly, not waiting for Tony to come and test another lock, slipping into his plaid pyjama pants and a soft, white shirt. He pats his hair down, not even bothering to comb it into its usual style, and chucks his towel into the corner of the room to be washed later. When he leaves the room, he discovers Tony’s missing, but once he’s in the livingroom, he glances into the kitchen and finds him with his head in the refrigerator.

“You can’t seriously still be hungry,” Steve says and Tony actually bangs his head on one of the shelves as though not at all anticipating Steve to be there. He spins around and hides behind the door as though half-expecting a gun fight.

“Jesus. What are you; an assassin? I was looking for a drink.”

Steve almost laughs at the expression on his face.

“The closest thing I have to alcohol in this house is root beer.”

“No, that’s fine. I don’t drink when I’m – ”

He doesn’t finish the sentence but Steve’s brain unhelpfully fills in the blanks. When I’m hooking, he means. He reaches around Tony’s body, ignoring the way Tony seems to lean into him and inhale quietly as though breathing in his clean scent, and pulls out a can of A&Ws finest. Tony takes it and finally shuts the fridge door.

“Did you want a glass?”

“Do you have a straw?” Steve frowns and runs a mental catalogue of his belongings, but straws definitely aren’t a part of them. “I’m just messing, big guy; I’m not five.”

Steve shrugs and grabs a tumbler for himself from above the sink and fills it with filtered water. It isn’t until after he’s taken the first sip that he realises something’s different. He glances about, his brow creasing in thought, before it finally dawns on him.

“You did my dishes.” Tony just stands there as though he has no idea what’s going on, and Steve is willing to admit that he’s a damn good actor. “You didn’t seriously have to do that. It was a joke.”

“Didn’t have to do what?” is all Tony says before glancing away and getting distracted by Steve’s blue betta fish, Peggy.

Steve refuses to play his game and ends up shaking his head and taking his water back with him to the couch, where he sprawls back in his original position.

“Oh,” he says belatedly, “your stuff is still in the bathroom if you want it back.”

He listens to Tony’s quiet footsteps as he does just that before flopping beside Steve again, his perspiring can in one hand, his phone in the other. He doesn’t mean to stare, but Tony catches him and grins.

“Did you get come in your eye? It’s all red,” he says and they’re back to square one.

“You’re insufferable,” Steve complains, glaring at him. “Do people ever pay you to shut up?”

“No, but someone once gave me a hundred dollars extra to be very, _very_ loud.”

He winks and Steve takes a sip of his drink, because his mouth is suddenly very, _very_ dry.

“Why can’t you stay at home?” Steve asks, hoping to divert the conversation before Tony can get even more of an upper hand.

“Personal reasons,” Tony replies quickly, as though it’s a touchy subject and Steve doesn’t want to poke it with a ten foot pole.

“What about a hotel?”

“I’ve been banned from a fair number of them. Surprisingly – and I know what you’re thinking – it’s not at all work related.”

“Never said a word,” Steve says with a small smile and Tony shoots him a look.

“I can _hear_ your mind working overtime in there,” he teases, poking Steve’s forehead gently and Steve bats his hand away.

“Why couldn’t you go bother someone else?”

“Because you’re just too much fun. Also, your buddy already paid me. You’re stuck with me at least until 8am tomorrow morning, because I refuse to get up any earlier on a Saturday.”

“All I wanted was a nice quiet day, but then I had to cover someone else’s shift and come home to _this_.”

He gestures between them and Tony shrugs.

“No rest for the wicked.”

“How long has it been since _you_ last slept, then, devil-spawn?”

Tony makes an exaggerated shocked face and gasps.

“Oh! Someone’s grumpy!”

Steve slouches as he sets his glass on the table and focuses his attention back on the television, where Jeopardy is still playing. Tony seems to radiate smugness as he copies the movements with his own can of soda, but he does, thankfully, shut up finally.

Three episodes later and Steve’s almost worried about Tony’s silence, but when he glances at the clock on the wall, he finds it’s almost midnight and he lets out a quiet grunt; no wonder he’s tired. He turns towards Tony, ready to tell him he’s going to bed, but finds him with his head tilted back, mouth open, breathing out soft little half-snores. He’s surprisingly handsome when he’s not running his mouth off.

Steve lifts himself up, trying to make as little noise as possible as he heads to the bedroom, knowing he has spare blankets for Tony to sleep on the couch with. He tugs them free from the closet and grabs the extra pillow off his bed before walking back to the livingroom, where Tony is now sprawled across the length of it, one hand tucked neatly under his head. Steve prods him and waits for him to stir.

“Lift your head,” he says and Tony does as he’s told, while Steve slides the pillow beneath it. Tony doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Steve lets out a long breath and carefully arranges the blankets over Tony’s body, watching as he curls in, dragging the sheets with him as though needing the extra warmth. He smoothes them down, telling himself that it’s not to feel the gentle slope of Tony’s side, and draws away before Tony can awaken and mock him further.

“Thanks,” Tony mumbles, obviously still half-asleep and Steve steps away, shutting off the television and lights, before grabbing his drink and making his way to the bedroom. As soon as the door shuts behind him, he sighs heavily and leans back against it. He’s not meant to have a soft spot for escorts; it’s wildly inappropriate, not to mention dangerous. He knocks his head back against the wood and moves to set his glass on the nightstand before walking back out for the bathroom.

Standing at the mirror, brushing his teeth, he can’t help but glance back through the open door, peering into the darkness where Tony’s curled up, making quiet noises in his sleep. After spitting and rinsing, he digs in a nearby drawer, pulling out an unused toothbrush still in its box for Tony to use should he wake up before Steve. It’s one of those free ones from the dentist, which no one ever seems to use because they’re not quite as good as other ones. He doesn’t bother leaving a note; he’s sure Tony can work it out for himself. He turns off the light and staggers tiredly to his bedroom, collapsing face-first onto the mattress and rolling over, forming a burrito with the comforter.

Blindly, he shuts off the beside lamp and closes his eyes.

*

It’s the creaky floorboard by the door that wakes him and he snuffles slightly and buries his face deeper into the pillow.

“I can’t sleep,” Tony says as though it’s Steve’s problem, as though it isn’t a blatant lie, and Steve finally shifts and blinks tiredly, hating the florescent lights on his clock that tell him it’s just after four in the morning. He’s too exhausted to move, even when the bed dips and he can smell Tony behind him. A hand slides under the hem of his shirt, Tony’s palm resting warmly against the skin of his stomach and there’s a mouth by his ear, breathing softly. “C’mon Steve, it’s just a present.”

Steve rolls onto his back and peers at Tony in the half-light from the streetlamps outside. There’s more to it than that, Steve knows.

“No one has ever turned me down before,” he murmurs and Steve gets his answer.

“That’s not the most convincing argument I’ve ever heard,” Steve grumbles, and Tony’s hand is still on him, burning his skin with the heat.

“You need to keep watch; what if I steal all of your belongings? What if this has all been a ruse from the beginning?”

“No one can fake being _that_ annoying. If you do decide to rob me, just don’t wake me.”

“Do you have _any_ friends?” Tony retorts and Steve makes a thoughtful face.

“Bucky no longer counts because you’re here and it’s all his fault.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

The mattress shifts as Tony moves, one hand resting just above Steve’s shoulder, close enough that his wrist brushes the skin of his neck, warm and soft and entirely distracting, just like the thumb rubbing circles just below his navel.

“You have plenty, I suppose? Any that don’t pay you?”

It’s a low blow, Steve knows, but ever since Tony showed up at his door he’s wanted to push him, see his true personality and, apparently, Tony isn’t going to disappoint.

“Playing dirty, Mr Rogers? Now that’s something I’m a fan of.”

He lowers his mouth, teeth biting sharply into the skin of Steve's upper arm, just under the short sleeve of his shirt, and Steve hisses quietly. When Steve brings his hands up to Tony’s waist, he finds he’s stripped down to his undershirt and boxer-briefs, and he digs his fingers into Tony’s hips, holding on and tugging just slightly, shifting Tony so that he has to straddle Steve’s thighs. The sheets slide down around them, but Steve doesn’t care because Tony looks perfect from where he is.

“That’s a good look for you,” Steve says, meaning every word, but unable to admit it without the fake sarcasm. “No wonder you’re so easily employable.”

Tony grinds down with the barest of touches, but with so much promise that it makes Steve’s stomach clench painfully. He thinks about the lap dance Tony threatened him with and wonders if he could still earn himself one.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Tony drawls. “If you’re lucky, I might just show you a few of them.”

Steve can’t keep up the banter; it’s easier to just slide a hand behind Tony’s head and pull him down, their mouths meeting roughly, wet and smooth, and just what Steve expects. What he doesn’t expect is the way Tony slows the movements, turns them soft and gentle, hands coming up to cup Steve’s face with callous-free palms. He tastes minty, exactly like Steve’s toothpaste, and he knows Tony found the toothbrush left out for him. His tongue is warm and insistent against Steve’s mouth, almost enough to allow him to forget why he shouldn’t let his fingers wriggle under the hem of Tony’s shirt.

Tony’s thumbs press under his chin, tilting his head back just enough to change the angle and leave Steve grasping at his skin, needing something, anything to hold onto. He wasn’t lying about the talents, Steve thinks, because no one has ever made his toes curl just from a kiss before. Steve brushes his tongue against Tony’s own, feeling the way it responds automatically to the touch, sliding and flicking against Steve’s and he can’t quite stop the noise that pushes its way into Tony’s mouth.

He feels Tony’s small smile pressing against his lips and he digs his blunt nails into Tony’s skin in warning, because no man should ever be that smug. Tony makes a sound that says he might not mind being punished at all and Steve stores the information away to use to his advantage. Slowly, Tony’s hands move away from Steve’s face, settling instead on his shoulders, his fingers clinging hard as though he’s afraid to let go. Steve strokes his sides, feeling lean muscle under his palms, and Tony arches into the touch, nipping at Steve’s bottom lip in return.

“Steve,” Tony mumbles as though it’s the only name he knows and Steve wants to make sure it’s the only one he remembers.

It’s easy to ruck Tony’s shirt up under his armpits and Tony seems more than happy to help slide it over his head, mussing his hair up to a point of no return that makes him look unfathomably appealing. Tony’s chest is entirely smooth-shaven and Steve knows it must be for the job, but there’s a circular scar right in the middle and Steve’s thumbs find it immediately, rubbing and soothing as though to quell a phantom pain. Tony tenses slightly, obviously not appreciating the attention, and Steve pushes an apology into his mouth as he slides their lips back together, dragging his hands down to Tony’s hips.

“You can carry on if you want,” Tony whispers, breaking the kiss, but it sounds strained, even to Steve.

Steve cocks his head and frowns.

“You can say ‘No’ sometimes, Tony.”

“That’s not what I get paid for,” he replies, bordering on bitterness.

“And are you doing this because you’ve been paid to?”

Tony sits back on Steve’s thighs, quietly observing, and for a long moment he thinks he’s pushed too far. Eventually, however, Tony blinks down at him and smiles crookedly. With his hands sneaking under the hem of Steve’s shirt, pushing it up until Steve has to finally tug it free from his body, he looks far too content.

“No,” he says, and there’s a slight pause before it’s as though he’s broken a dam. “No, no, no, no.”

He presses the word, alongside his tongue, between Steve’s lips, breathing it out using old air from Steve’s lungs and not seeming to care one bit that his voice catches around the truth. Steve rakes his fingers down Tony’s back and slides the tips of his fingers beneath the waistband of Tony’s boxer-briefs just to touch more of his smooth, warm skin. Tony pushes against his hands and pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, tugging enough to draw a quiet noise out of Steve. He thumbs at Steve’s nipples, rubbing until Steve has to grab his wrists and drag them away, because as nice as it is, there are far better places for Tony to put his hands.

As it turns out, Tony’s hands rest perfectly on his waist, fingers slotting into the vee of his hips, his palms warm and dry against his skin. When Tony breaks the kiss, Steve tries his best to keep a hold of him, but Tony seems set on mouthing his way down Steve’s throat, leaving tiny bruises that Steve knows will be purple the next day, but can’t bring himself to care about. He drags his fingertips through Tony’s hair, messing it up even further, and wonders vaguely if it’ll annoy him after obviously spending so long styling it. If he does, he never says anything, just digs his teeth into Steve’s collarbone and leaves another stinging mark to remember him by.

Steve tries to keep a hold of Tony, tightening his grip as Tony moves further down his body, but either he doesn’t feel it, or he doesn’t care because he never stops, keeps trailing kisses down Steve’s stomach with a soft, open mouth. Hot breath blows into his bellybutton and he knows he’s pulling on Tony’s hair, but Tony just keeps making quiet noises that don’t sound at all pained and if anything it only encourages Steve to tug harder.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve murmurs, the word escaping before he can think to stop it and Tony’s eyes flick up to his, giving him a knowing look and Steve can’t deny it; Tony’s name sounds so perfect rolling off his tongue.

Slowly, Tony slides from his hips, pushing Steve’s legs further apart so he can kneel between them, even as his fingers hook under the elastic of Steve’s PJ pants and drag them down his body, tossing them into the darkness without a backwards glance.

“The entire time?” Tony pauses to say as he finds Steve isn’t wearing underwear and Steve shrugs as best he can lying down.

“It’s comfortable.”

“Easier for me,” Tony replies and before Steve even knows it, there’s a hot, wet tongue dragging along the length of his cock, teasing enough to get him hard at the thought of what’s to come. His breath catches, thigh muscles twitching at the sudden shock of pleasure that jolts through him, and Tony knows exactly what he’s doing because when he sucks gently at the skin just under the head of his cock, it feels as though he’s about to blow apart.

“Oh god,” he mumbles, hand sliding to the back of Tony’s head, holding him in place and it’s unnerving to feel Tony smile against his skin.

Warm lips wrap around the tip of his erection and Steve wants nothing more than to shove to the back of Tony’s throat and see if he can take it, but he refrains and instead flops one arm over his eyes, moaning quietly. Apparently, Tony can read him easily as he presses one hand to Steve’s hip to hold him down and then slowly slides more and more of him into his mouth. Steve knows he shouldn’t look, really shouldn’t, but can’t help it; he uncovers his eyes and glances down, finding Tony already watching him, cheeks hollowed as he sucks him in deeper, the head of Steve’s cock nudging the back of his soft throat.

Steve almost loses it right then.

He bites his lip to keep from whining, but as Tony’s tongue flicks against the underside of him, it all escapes in a rushed breath of begging and pleading for Tony to hurry and stop all at the same time. Lazily, Tony pulls off of Steve’s cock with a loud wet noise and crudely licks his lips.

“I know I’m good, but I didn’t know I was _that_ good,” he says, ruining his sarcasm by dotting kisses along Steve’s inner thighs in a strangely tender gesture.

He must do it for all of his clients, Steve thinks, trying not to picture Tony between the legs of other men, but when Tony begins mouthing his way back up Steve’s chest, he can’t help but hope that maybe, perhaps, he’s showing a side never seen before. He pulls Tony up, kissing him and tasting precome even through the mint that still lingers; Tony touches his jaw with a light touch and Steve opens before he even realises, curling his arms around him and holding him close. He can’t get enough of the stinging burn of Tony’s facial hair and he knows his face must be pink and raw, but his fingers refuse to let go as though they’ve got a mind of their own.

“You want this?” Tony asks between kisses and Steve nips at his lip and snorts quietly.

“What gave me away?”

Tony shifts and grinds down, the movement loose and easy and Steve gasps into his mouth, wet heat drying his lips when Tony laughs softly. He stops abruptly, however, when Steve slides a hand between them and rubs his palm against the damp spot of Tony’s underwear.

“You want this?” he mimics and Tony actually lets out a growl.

“Want to know what gives me away?” he asks, moving around in Steve’s lap, pushing his own boxer-briefs down around his thighs. He grabs Steve’s hand and guides it behind him, letting Steve drag his fingers across smooth skin until he finds what Tony was hinting at. He’s wet and open and all Steve can think about is Tony in his bathroom, one foot on the lid of the toilet, fingers slick with lube, stretching himself open. He shuts his eyes and swallows.

“Is that your normal nightly routine?” Steve rasps out, voice shot, and Tony digs his teeth into the curve of his neck. “Brush your teeth, wash your face, and finger yourself open?”

“Only during slumber parties.”

Steve pushes two fingers into him and Tony arches against them, his breath hitching faintly as he shifts on top of Steve’s legs. Steve almost laughs and gloats at how easily he can undo someone like Tony, but then Tony moves and starts riding his fingers like a pro and he can’t even think, let alone speak. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Steve tugs his hand away, pulling his fingers free from the tight heat, forcing a noise out of Tony, who wriggles as though it’s the opposite of what he wants. Without any finesse, Steve tugs at Tony’s underwear, knowing he’s stretching it out beyond rescue, but apparently Tony doesn’t care because his hands are right alongside Steve’s, pushing and shoving until he can kick the material away.

With two palms pressing hard against Steve’s chest, Tony lifts himself up, thighs spread wide, hips angled down, and Steve knows what he’s searching for as he takes himself in hand and presses the tip of his cock against Tony’s entrance.

“Wait,” Tony chokes out and Steve stops immediately, staring up at him expectantly. “Condom.”

Steve breathes slowly through his nose and slides his hand down the back of Tony’s leg.

“I have a box for emergencies in the bathroom cabinet.”

Steve doesn’t even has time to grab a hold of Tony before he rolls away and practically jogs from the room. Steve hears the bathroom door bang open and the faint creak of the old metal hinges whining as Tony rummages through the cupboard. It’s only a few moments later when Tony returns, chucking the box at Steve, who only just catches it in time.

“It’s not even open,” Tony points out, crawling onto the bed, back over Steve’s body, once more becoming the welcomed weight on top of him.

“There haven’t been any emergencies lately,” Steve mumbles, ripping into the box and accidentally spilling foil packets all over the bed. Tony grabs a row and tugs one free, tearing it open without hesitation and lifting himself up to roll it down onto Steve’s cock. He obviously had enough sense to grab the emergency lube too because Steve can feel the coolness of it through the latex, making him slick and ready. There’s a thump as Tony chucks the lube across the room and then all Steve can focus on is the heat around his cock as Tony sinks down onto him.

His hands automatically find Tony’s hips, holding on tight enough to bruise, but Tony doesn’t seem to mind if his litany of nonsense is anything to go on.

“Fuck, Steve, yes,” he encourages, slurring out the words as though he’s drunk, head tipped back, fingertips digging into Steve’s chest. “So good. So thick. God, you fill me up perfectly.”

Steve doesn’t have the energy to reply, has just enough to slide a hand around Tony’s shoulder to pull him down, shutting him up with a well-timed kiss and Tony latches on as though he has no intention of ever letting go. His mouth is almost hotter than his words and his tongue is just as quick, flicking against Steve’s own without any sense of rhythm, though Steve supposes that he has a decent excuse since he’s pressing down the final inch before resting fully in Steve’s lap.

For a long moment, Tony doesn’t move, just breathes into Steve’s open mouth, hands smoothing over his skin as though mapping it out. Steve trails his fingers down Tony’s back, feeling the gentle curve of his spine all the way down to the fullness of his ass; he thinks briefly about touching where they’re joined, but his cock twitches just at the thought and he knows he won’t last if he does. Tony grabs his wrists and tugs his arms back over his head, where Tony proceeds to pin them to the mattress, lacing their fingers together, despite the slick mess of lube.

“Push your hips up,” Tony tells him quietly, and Steve doesn’t waste time before following the order, almost lifting Tony’s entire weight off the bed as he presses up into him. The noise Tony lets out doesn’t even sound human, but he nods his head as though it’s exactly what he asked for and Steve repeats the motion, using his shoulders to raise himself higher. Tony swears and his cock drips freely as his knees leave the mattress, balancing him in Steve’s lap, filling him up completely.

Tony’s nails dig into the backs of his hands and Steve slowly lowers him back down, letting Tony raise himself up, keeping only the tip of Steve’s cock inside him. He holds still and stares down at Steve with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Remind me to thank your friend,” he says with a rough voice and Steve lifts one eyebrow.

“Bucky?”

“We wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for him.”

“We wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for _you_ ,” Steve retorts and Tony slowly sinks down again with a smirk.

“What position would we be in if it were up to you then?”

Steve pulls a thoughtful face and tries not to move when Tony pushes up and slams back down again.

“You’d be on your back,” he says and Tony _hmm_ s quietly.

“That’s rather vanilla, Mr Rogers. Don’t you have any deep, dark fantasies?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Steve replies, voice cool and even. “Your wrists would be bound to the headboard and there would definitely be a gag involved, because you don’t seem able to shut your pretty mouth.”

“So you admit that it’s pretty?” Tony interrupts and Steve lifts his hips, silencing him quickly.

“It looked prettier wrapped around my cock.”

Tony makes a quiet noise and moves again, just once, as though he can’t help himself.

“What would you do to me if I were bound and gagged?” he whispers and Steve meets his gaze.

“I’d make sure you felt it,” he says and Tony shuts his eyes as though picturing it. “For the rest of the week.”

The precome that drips onto Steve’s stomach is hot and sticky as Tony ruts forward, dragging his cock through the mess as though needing some sort of friction to ease the ache inside him. Steve watches quietly, enjoying the way Tony clenches around him each time he moves, and he can’t quite stop himself from pressing a kiss to the edge of Tony’s jaw as he leans closer. Tony turns his head to the side, sliding their mouths together and pushing rumbling words between Steve’s lips, ones that he can’t quite understand, even though they vibrate around his tongue.

The kiss is wet and messy, but Steve doesn’t mind because when Tony pulls back, his lips are shining and swollen and he knows it’s all because of him.

“Do it,” Tony says and he almost misses it because he’s too busy thinking about Tony’s mouth.

“What?”

“Do it,” he repeats. “Make me feel it for the rest of the week.”

Steve’s brain seems to overload and all that comes out of his mouth is, “Am I allowed?” because he has no idea if there’s anything in the hooker rules and regulations that says he can’t.

“ _Fuck_ , Steve,” Tony spits out. “Just do it!”

He grinds down in Steve’s lap and Steve rolls them, pinning Tony down to the mattress with a gasp as he slides in even deeper. Tony lets go of his hands and grabs a hold of the headboard, his knuckles turning white as Steve watches and he doesn’t know how long he’ll hold out with Tony spread out beneath him.

“C’mon, Rogers. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Steve gets his knees under himself and slides his palms around Tony’s waist to hitch him up at a better angle before he pulls out slowly and then slides home. Tony turns to putty in his hands, practically boneless as he pleads for more even as Steve begins to thrust in earnest, his movements short and sharp, keeping his promise to make Tony feel it. Tony is so tight and hot around him he can’t focus on anything else, just knows he needs more, and the way Tony curls his legs around him makes it easier to quicken his pace. Tony lets out a noise every time Steve pushes into him, sounding almost as blissed-out as he looks, and Steve knows he’s doing well.

“Talk to me, Tony,” he gets out, never once slowing down and Tony stares up at him, mouth open slightly.

“You need me to boost your ego?”

Steve smiles and rests his palm by Tony’s head, using the position to thrust harder.

“No,” he says above the din of Tony moaning louder. “I just want to hear you come undone.”

Tony eyes gloss over as though he’s not all there, but his biceps tense and the headboard creaks as though about to break under the pressure of Tony tugging at it.

“You ever thought about switching careers?” Tony asks and Steve changes the angle of his hips slightly, drawing a shocked noise from him. “ _Fuck_. Okay, I’ll talk. You’re better than waterboarding.”

Steve leans down and kisses him briefly, letting Tony slide his tongue into his mouth before he draws away and leaves him hanging.

“ _God_ , you feel so good,” Tony mutters and Steve continues thrusting into him. “Need more.”

The only thing Steve can think to do is brace his weight on one arm while he reaches between their stomachs and takes a hold of Tony’s cock. Tony arches off the bed, even with Steve leaning over him, and he gasps as though he can’t breathe. Steve almost checks to see if he’s okay, until Tony draws in a long breath and tightens his legs around his waist.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” he repeats. “Fuck, Steve, I’m gonna come. God, I hate you; how are you so good at this?”

Before Steve can even respond, Tony tenses beneath and around him and Steve has to bite his lip to keep from waking his neighbours. Warmth spreads between them and Steve doesn’t stop stroking and thrusting until Tony collapses under him, fingers sliding free from the headboard, arms falling like lead weights to the pillows. Steve tries to think of anything but the sight of Tony below, entirely fucked out and exhausted, but when Tony whines his name and digs his teeth into Steve’s bicep as it’s the one thing closest to Tony’s face, he finds himself following suit.

Pleasure rocks through him, all the way down to his toes and he’s a second away from getting the worst Charlie horse ever before he comes and finds himself falling face-first onto Tony, who just lets out a soft _oof_ in response. His whole body trembles as he shakes through his release and he latches his mouth onto the side of Tony’s neck, worrying a mark that he knows will be there for days. Tony doesn’t even complain, just lies underneath him, making quiet noises as though he’s already half-asleep. It’s a long moment before Steve’s able to catch his breath, but Tony doesn’t rush him, possibly too tired from his own orgasm, but eventually Steve reaches down and holds the condom while he pulls out, feeling entirely bereft of energy.

“You okay?” he asks Tony, who just grunts in answer, but it must be a positive response because he rolls over as Steve sits up and nestles into the pillows as though he’s not going anywhere, even if Steve tries to prise him out of bed with a shoehorn. Steve rolls out of bed onto shaking limbs and makes his way to the bathroom to clean up, throwing the condom into the trash and wetting a cloth with which to quickly wipe himself down. He thinks about taking it back with him to let Tony clean himself, but knows the mess is probably already all over his sheets from Tony rolling around in them.

He leaves the washcloth in the sink and makes his way out again, catching sight of the clock and knowing he’s going to regret being awake so early. He finds Tony wrapped up in blankets like a cocoon, snoring softly, and taking up most of the bed. He snorts quietly at the sight before gently encouraging Tony to roll over so he can slip in behind him. It’s far too warm and their skin sticks where they touch, but Steve has no problem with shutting his eyes and sliding an arm over Tony’s hip. With a gentle sigh, he presses a kiss to Tony’s shoulder and promptly falls asleep.

*

Steve doesn’t remember setting his alarm, but it beeps incessantly at him the next morning and he grumbles and rolls over, throwing a hand out to silence it. He lifts his head and blinks, once, twice, then pulls a face. It’s almost noon and taped to the edge of the clock is a small note that says _Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Don’t waste the day in bed_ in cramped handwriting that he supposes is Tony’s. With a sigh, he sits up and glances over his shoulder, finding the bed empty, the only evidence that Tony was even there at all being the stains on his sheets and the bundle of blankets where he once was.

He thinks briefly about going back to sleep, but then the alarm beeps at him again, the five-minute snooze finally up, and he switches it off completely. Dragging himself out of bed, he stumbles to his desk to grab a sweatshirt from the back of his chair, tugging it on as he pulls a pair of boxers from his laundry basket that’s full of clothes still needing to be folded and put away.

Partially decent, he makes his way out into the kitchen, which smells surprisingly pleasant. He finds the coffeepot full of freshly made coffee on the side and another note taped to the microwave door.

>   
>  _Made too much food. I should charge extra._   
> 

He opens it up to find a plate of scrambled eggs and toast that is still unexpectedly warm, hinting that Tony only left a little while ago. He takes it out and walks to the sink to glance out his window that overlooks the parking lot. There’s a mother pushing a stroller and a man standing on the corner of the street gesticulating wildly with one had while he shouts into his phone. It’s not Tony and Steve berates himself for even hoping. Tony was just a one-night-stand, nothing more. It just happened to be paid for by Bucky. Steve sets his plate down and sighs; he needs coffee.

He grabs a mug and pours some out, adding in an embarrassing amount of sugar, but there’s no one around to see, so he doesn’t care at all. He sits at the kitchen table and holds the coffee close, letting the steam waft over his face as he shuts his eyes and breathes in slowly. He definitely doesn’t think about Tony, or the fact that the night before was possibly the best sex he’s ever had. He takes a long sip of his drink, careful not to burn his tongue, and then sets the mug down in front of him, glancing briefly at his cell phone that’s sitting next to him. There are no messages, not even any from Bucky, and the feeling inside him is definitely not disappointment.

He sighs and leans back in his chair, almost falling out of it when he notices a thick envelope stuck to his fridge with a magnet with the number to his local plumber on it. He gets up and unpins it, taking another swig of his coffee before turning it over. He recognises Bucky’s handwriting immediately, the tidy script spelling out the address for a local PO Box, but there’s no name. Out of curiosity he opens it, though he notices he’s not the first one to get to it, but he gapes when he pulls out a wad of notes and a small, folded piece of paper. Just looking at the pile of twenties and fifties, he knows there’s probably close to a thousand dollars in there, but he doesn’t know how it ended up in his apartment.

He opens up the note and it finally dawns on him.

>   
>  _Steve,_   
> 

>   
>  _Buy yourself a pizza or two, and call me when you want to celebrate your birthday again._   
> 

>   
>  _-Tony_   
> 

>   
>  _PS. I’m free next Saturday._   
> 

Call him? Does he expect to get the number off of Bucky? Not that he plans to call or anything, but he won’t ever be able to live down the teasing if he did. It also means that the money belongs to Bucky, which he plans to return as soon as he sees him next, and he can use it to throw him off the scent. No prostitute would ever give out anything for free, right? Unless they didn’t need the money in the first place. He puts his head in his hands and sighs, hating that everything in his life always seems to become so complicated.

His phone buzzes across the table and he grabs it without looking at the number, expecting it to be Bucky, gloating and trying to prise his way into Steve’s personal life.

“Hello?” he says, sounding about as awful as he feels and there’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “If this is a telemarketer, I’m not in the mood.”

“What _are_ you in the mood for then, Rogers?” comes Tony’s smooth voice and Steve sits upright and almost drops the phone.

“How did you get this number?”

“From the phone you left sitting on your kitchen table. I took the liberty of adding mine to your contacts.”

Steve doesn’t know how to check while still on the line, but when he pulls the phone away from his ear, the screen tells him he’s connected with “Guy Who Definitely Feels it Today”. He blushes and puts it back up to his ear.

“Why are you calling?”

“Did you get my note?” Tony says instead of answering.

“Yes. Why didn’t you take the money?”

“So you’re free on Saturday?”

“Tony!”

“You fed me and put me up for the night. Why would I take the money?”

“You were still just doing your job,” Steve says with a sigh and there’s another pause.

“We went through this last night. I told you: I was doing it because I wanted to. Just a regular one-night-stand.”

“And now you’re asking me out on a date?”

“Think of it as the second coming,” he says and Steve can practically hear his leer through the phone.

“You’re unreal.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you were saying last night, too.”

“I’m going to hang up,” Steve says and Tony laughs, sounding carefree.

“I’ll swing by your place at seven then?”

“Goodbye, Tony.”

“I’ll be thinking of you.”

He hangs up and immediately changes Tony’s contact to his actual name, not needing anyone going through his phone to see the embarrassing message. He sets the phone down and notices the plate of eggs still sitting on the counter and he knows they must be cold by now, but he sticks them back in the microwave for a few seconds to reheat them. Slowly, he eats them, very decidedly trying not to think about what Tony might be up to.

He gives up halfway through the second slice of toast and programs the date into his phone’s calendar. However, he’s pretty sure he won’t forget about it. He sighs and carries on eating.


End file.
